


it'll fall just like you sense

by irishmizzy



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/pseuds/irishmizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say you'd be lucky to fall in love with your best friend. You wouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it'll fall just like you sense

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series. For the "Kiss Me" challenge over at [](http://community.livejournal.com/nothing_hip/profile)[**nothing_hip**](http://community.livejournal.com/nothing_hip/).

Ted stood in the middle of the Stop &amp; Shop, squinting at the paper in his hand, trying to figure out what the hell it was Marshall had added to the bottom of his grocery list. It was his own fault, really, because he'd left the list on the counter and told Marshall to add anything he thought they might need and now Ted didn't know if they really needed butternut squash or if it was a joke.

They'd been in their new apartment for almost two weeks and they still hadn't cooked Lily the real dinner they'd promised her, something with vegetables and chicken and -- oranges? Oregano? Origami? Ted had no idea. Marshall should have been the one grocery shopping -- Lily was his girlfriend, and, you know, Marshall was the one who knew how to cook. Sort of -- but no, he was too busy meeting with his professors and being an overachiever and whatever. It was the second week of school. No one should have been working this hard in their classes already but oh, there was Marshall, running around trying to take Advanced Law for Lawyers or whatever it was he'd been flailing about all week.

Ted crumpled the grocery list in his fist and decided to go with yes: oregano, no: butternut squash. Marshall could drive his own ass back to the supermarket later if he'd really wanted the squash.

**

"Dude, I don't know what the hell you really wanted from this list so I just guessed," Ted said over the blaring tv. His key got stuck in the lock and he dropped half his grocery bags on the floor while he struggled to get it out. "I figured oranges were a weird request, because, you know, who eats oranges with their chicken? I guess you do if you're having orange chicken, but I don't know how to make that and I doubt you do, either. So if it was oranges and I guessed wrong, my bad. And if you really needed squash you can suck it. Also, do we have a pan for the chicken? Because if we have to ask Lily to bring one to the dinner we're cooking for _her_, that's pretty pathetic."

He dragged the bags into the kitchen and finished putting everything away before he realized that Marshall was sprawled out on the couch completely ignoring everything he's saying. From where he stood he saw Marshall's feet dangling over one edge of the couch and one arm dangling over the other end. There were clothes hanging over the back of the couch -- shirts and shorts and someone's sweatshirt -- and with the way the entire room was such a disaster it was hard to believe that they'd only been living there for two weeks. There were piles of crap gathering everywhere, shoes and extension cords and used napkins and all sorts of garbage all over the place. It was really disgusting, actually. It was going to take them forever to clean up if they wanted it to be semi-presentable for Lily's dinner.

Ted leaned over the back of the couch and poked Marshall in the fleshy part of his shoulder. Marshall mumbled something and halfheartedly swatted at Ted's hand before burrowing deeper into the couch. He watched the rise and fall of Marshall's chest and the way his t-shirt had ridden up so there was a strip of skin exposed along his stomach; he wanted to reach out and run his fingers along the furrow next to Marshall's hip; the thought alone gave him roller coaster stomach. He took a step away from the couch and breathed deeply. Well _that_ was weird. Roller coaster stomach wasn't a new feeling, it was just one that was usually reserved for the girl in the pink shorts and tank top who ran around campus every morning or his ex-girlfriends or Lily when she used him as a pillow. Apparently now it was for hot girls and sleeping Marshall. What the hell?

He shook his head and blinked a few times. He hadn't eaten since breakfast -- well, except for some free samples at the A&amp;P, but some cut up sausages on frilly toothpicks were not lunch -- and he was probably going into hypoglycemic shock or something. That was all.

"Get up." Ted poked him again, harder, and then he poked him a lot more times in a row. "Get up get up get up get up get up."

Marshall weakly batted him away. When Ted didn't stop poking, Marshall's eyes popped open and he grabbed Ted's hand in the same instant, like he was half-ninja or something.

"I hope to God the building's on fire."

"We have to make dinner," he said. His voice was kind of squeaky and Marshall was still holding his hand and looking up at him all sleepy-eyed. Ted's stomach flipped again and he quickly wrenched his hand out of Marshall's grasp. He needed to eat something, stat. "Dinner!"

Marshall blinked at him and slowly sat up. "Dude, why are you spazzing? It's just Lily. It's not like she hasn't been here every day since we moved in."

"Yeah, but we promised her this meal! We promised her vegetables!"

"I don't think Lily's going to cry if you don't give her broccoli, Ted."

"Well good, because we're having peas."

"Peas? Who picks peas? They're the worst."

"Shut up, I _like_ peas."

"Yeah, well you're the only one."

"Am not."

"Are too." Marshall grabbed one of the t-shirts off the couch and threw it at Ted's head. "Seriously, Ted, chill out. It's just dinner."

Ted ignored him and tried very hard not to stomp when he walked into the kitchen, but it didn't really work. He opened the refrigerator door and stared inside for a minute; shouldn't Marshall marinate the chicken or something. Were they even marinating it? Why did they promise to cook a real meal? What was so wrong about hot dogs and potato chips?

"So, dinner, huh?" Marshall asked, standing next to Ted and crowding his space. He was too close. Ted started to feel like he couldn't breathe. "Let's rock this." He pointed at the package of chicken and snapped his fingers.

"I'm sorry, did you want this?" Ted passed him the chicken and closed the fridge and tried to put some space between them in the too-small kitchen. He busied himself with digging around in the cabinets while Marshall produced a pan from somewhere and, okay, that was pretty miraculous.

"Hey, I couldn't decide at the store, so you pick -- broccoli au gratin, or creamy four cheese?"

"Oh God, I don't know," Marshall said. When he turned around, Ted held up both boxes of Rice-A-Roni. Marshall pointed back and forth between them which maybe meant he was thinking about which will go best with the chicken but more likely meant he was doing eeny-meenie-miney-mo. "Broccoli."

It was quiet for a while as they both did their own thing -- Marshall apparently had the chicken under control and he wasn't complaining about a lack of oranges, so that was good. Ted just focused on not fucking up the rice. He could hear Marshall singing the Rice-A-Roni jingle under his breath, and that was a song that was going to get stuck in Ted's head for days. Great.

 

**

After dinner, all three of them crowded into the tiny kitchen to survey the damage. Lily looked appalled.

"I don't understand," she said. "Was there a tornado here?"

"Hey!" Ted and Marshall protested at the same time.

"There may have been a problem with the rice," Marshall admitted.

"I had no idea it would burn so fast!" Ted said.

"Well, it still tasted good," Lily said, giving him a one-armed hug.

"Yeah, that's because he only served you the non-burnt parts."

Ted punched Marshall in the arm. "Shut up, Mr. I'm-Watching-The-Chicken-Oh-Shit!-It's-On-Fire."

"Ow!"

"Oh, that didn't hurt."

"It did too. _Ow_! Lily, tell Ted to stop hitting me."

"Ted, stop hitting Marshall," Lily said hollowly.

Marshall stuck his tongue out at Ted and then Ted punched Marshall square in the back and then everything degenerated into a towel snapping fight.

"If you two don't cut it out right now I'm taking my brownies and going home," Lily said when Marshall tried to use her as a shield.

"Sorry, Lily."

"Sorry, Lil. Wait, you made brownies?"

She pointed at a pan sitting on the counter and Ted wondered how he'd missed it earlier. Marshall lunged for the pan at the same time as Ted, barely outreaching him.

"Dibs on the middle," they both yelled.

"Dude, I said it first," Marshall said, clutching the brownies to his chest.

"No way!"

"Yes way. And whatever, I'm holding them, so I get the middle. I win!"

"Damn you and your freakishly long arms."

Marshall laughed and victory danced his way over to the couch, holding the brownies over his head like a trophy. Lily hugged Ted from behind, getting soapy dishwater all over his stomach.

"Ugh, Lily, you couldn't have dried your hands?"

Which, of course, was an invitation for her to wipe her hands all over the front of his shirt.

"Oh, gross. Lily!"

She laughed and ran past him, ducking under his arms as he tried to grab her. He chased her as she ran circles around the couch while she shrieked and he yelled to Marshall for help. When it finally ended ("Truce," Ted had said, breathlessly, holding his hands up in surrender while Lily had threatened him with a spatula), they collapsed on the couch on either side of Marshall and used the spatula as a makeshift knife to pry the brownies out of the pan and in the quiet of it all, Ted thought about how this year might be the best yet.

**

"I hate school," Ted said, dropping his bag and falling face-first onto the couch.

Marshall, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, didn't even look up from his video game, so Ted turned onto his side and said it again, louder.

"What?" Marshall asked, clearly not paying any attention. His upper body twitched as he tried to get his running back to break a tackle.

"So much drafting," Ted whined. Marshall leaned forward as his player serpentined toward the end zone. He scored, spiked the ball, and Marshall paused the game with the player mid-back flip.

"Nice," Ted said, nodding at the screen.

"Thanks." Marshall turned to face him, tilting his head so it rested against the arm of the couch. "What'd you say before?"

"This semester _sucks_."

"Already, dude? Don't your freak-outs usually wait until midterms? It's only been like a month."

Ted kicked him in the shoulder and he laughed. Ted pressed his face into the cushions and let out a muffled scream.

"Okay, buddy," Marshall said, standing up. He bent down and rested his hand on the back of Ted's neck. It was warm and reassuring and Ted sort of melted under his touch when he briefly massaged the spot where Ted's neck turned into his shoulders.

It only lasted for a second, and then Marshall ruffled his hair and said, "Let's get you a beer."

Ted would have preferred Marshall's hand on his neck. That was not a realization he was entirely comfortable with.

**

"I don't want to play this one."

"Is that because you suck at it?"

"No, it's because _it_ sucks."

"Yeah, okay, Ted." Marshall rolled his eyes, but he still got up and kicked at the games lying on the floor. "Which do you want?"

"Street Racer."

"Come on, Ted, no."

"Mid-semester crisis," Ted said.

"It's not even mid-semester yet, a-hole."

Ted waved his beer can around and gestured at himself as if to say "look at how stressed I am and take pity on me." Marshall was pretty weak-willed when face-to-face with Ted's misery.

"Fine," Marshall huffed. He threw the second control kind of hard and Ted hissed when it smacked him in the stomach. Marshall left the room and came back with beers for both of them. He handed Ted two and then sat down and lined up two cans next to his knee and then he pulled two more beers out of his pockets.

"Here," he said, handing one of the cans to Ted. Ted took it and set it down and waited as Marshal shifted around, tugging at his shorts and his shirt until he was comfortable.

"Ready?"

"Yeah -- oh, wait!" Marshall cracked open his beer and waited for Ted to do the same. "To your tragic life," he said, tapping his can against Ted's.

"To my tragic -- hey!"

Marshall laughed and took a long sip of beer. Ted threw a well-timed elbow to his ribs.

 

 

"_Ow_, fucker!" Marshall coughed and sputtered and blindly smacked at Ted, catching him in the ear. Ted flailed wildly, trying to fight back and defend himself using only one arm.

"You're going to spill my beer."

"So?" Marshall punched him in the shoulder.

"So then you'll have to clean it up." Ted swatted at him again, but Marshall leaned out of the way. And then he kicked Ted in the ankle. "_Oh shit_, stop it!"

"_Ow_. Jesus, _you_ stop it. That really hurt. Now I have a fucking dead leg. Go sit over there." Marshall pointed to the other end of the couch. Ted glared at him and inched over, never taking his eyes off Marshall, who was muttering under his breath and massaging the spot where Ted had punched him in the thigh.

"You ready, Princess?" Ted asked.

"Shut up. I'm going to kick your ass."

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah, right," Marshall parroted, hitting the start button.

"_Hey_! I wasn't ready."

Marshall laughed. "Sucks to be you."

**

After the first three races, things calmed down enough that Ted could move closer to Marshall, back to where he'd left his beers. It had seemed like a good idea at the time -- his beers! -- but then Ted started being extra super aware of Marshall leaning into him every time he made a right hand turn and then he realized how weird it was that he was extra super aware of it at all and then it was awkward. He glanced at Marshall out of the corner of his eye and wondered if he was noticing Ted leaning into him.

"_Dammit_, Helmut," Marshall yelled when Ted's character punched Marshall's off the road. "You _suck_ at driving!"

Ted cackled and accelerated past Marshall. He leaned with his car as it turned, trying really hard not to think about how his arm and thigh were pressed against Marshall's as he drove across the finish line.

"I win!" he crowed.

"This game blows," Marshall said, dropping his controller onto the ground. "Also, I'm hungry."

"Me too." Ted leaned back and rested his head on the couch cushions. He absently scratched his stomach. "Do we even have any food?"

Marshall shrugged. "Winner checks the fridge," he said quickly.

"What? That's not even a real rule."

"It is now." Marshall smiled and shoved at Ted with his forearm, trying to force him into standing up.

"_Fine_," Ted sighed, fumbling to his feet.

There was nothing in their fridge -- well, not nothing, but they probably couldn't cobble a meal out of milk, Gatorade, an egg, the heel of a loaf of bread, and condiments. Actually, they probably _could_, but Ted was not willing to try. There was a 99% chance that milk was totally rancid, anyway. The freezer was equally pathetic. They had a lot of beer, though, so there was that.

"Hey, Marshall?"

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time you bought food?"

"Uh, I don't know, a while ago?"

Ted let the refrigerator door swing shut. "Pizza?"

"Extra cheese!"

**

"Do you think Lily would do our shopping for us?" Marshall asked around a mouthful of pizza.

"Maybe," Ted said. "Maybe she'll feel bad for us because if she doesn't, we'll starve to death."

"Yes, definitely." Marshall nodded. He scratched his nose and noticed he had pizza sauce on his pinkie. And then, like it was happening in slow motion, Ted watched as Marshall licked the sauce off his finger. He wondered what Marshall would have done if he'd reached over, grabbed his wrist, and then licked the sauce off himself. Oh God, that was not a normal reaction.

"Ted?" Marshall snapped his fingers in front of Ted's face.

"What?" Ted jumped. "Fuck, ow!"

"Are you okay?" Marshall looked at him warily.

"Bit my cheek," he said. He could feel his face flushing. His palms were kind of sweaty. This was not a normal reaction at all.

Marshall nodded and then pointed at the beer and Ted realized what he wanted.

"Oh, sorry. Here." He passed Marshall a can and then tossed the last of his pizza crust into the still-open box.

"Okay, are we doing this?" Marshall asked.

Ted blinked and tried to remember what Marshall was talking about. Oh, the game. Right. "Um, yes. Let's go."

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the greatest game of the century, the indestructible Florida Gators versus the lame Ohio State --,"

"Marshall, no speeches."

"-- Buckeyes. It is almost certain that --,"

"Marshall."

"-- this showdown at the Swamp --,"

"_Marshall_."

"Fine. But you're going down, Mosby."

"I am going to be unstoppable, Eriksen," Ted said, and then his QB fumbled the snap and Marshall started laughing.

"Shut up."

"I told you you sucked at this game."

"I do not, shut it." Ted elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oh yeah? Bring it."

This time his QB successfully completed a 15-yard pass for a first down and Ted grinned. "I think I just did."

Forty-five minutes later Marshall was standing on the couch, gator chomping his arms and singing his own never-ending version of "We Will Rock You."

"I did, I did rock you!" he sang in Ted's face. "Chomp chomp! Chomp chomp!"

Ted rolled his eyes.

"Sing it! I did, I did rock you!"

Ted carefully set his beer on the coffee table and lunged at Marshall, who yelled "Oh shit!" and leapt over the back of the couch. Ted followed him over the couch and around the table and back over the couch, both of them knocking empty beer cans and couch cushions and other not-nailed-down items every which way with each loop around the room. Ted switched directions abruptly and caught Marshall off-balance as he hurdled a fallen chair. Ted tackled him to the floor and they wrestled, kicking and hitting and semi-controlled flailing and Ted was pretty sure he got in at least one solid kidney punch before Marshall pinned his wrists to the ground and sat on his thighs and every thought Ted had ever had fled his mind all he was left with was a constant loop of _Oh God Oh God Oh God_ and the urge to pull Marshall down and kiss him square on the mouth.

"Say it," Marshall ordered. "Say I'm better than you."

"Never," Ted said, struggling weakly before he realized that, in his position, holding still was probably the best idea. Marshall was five seconds away from noticing the tent in his pants and then Ted would have to find the tallest building in Middletown and throw himself off it. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his grandma and dead babies and the roster of the 1995 Cleveland Indians.

"Say it," Marshall said. "And you have to look at me or it doesn't count."

Wayne Kirby, Kenny Lofton, Manny Ramirez, Ted thought. Manny Ramirez dressed as his grandmother.

"Say it."

Ted opened his eyes. "You're better, you're better."

Marshall grinned and Ted felt woozy. Lack of blood flow, he figured, and then he was right back to _Oh God Oh God Oh God_. Marshall let go of his wrists and he had to remind himself to breathe. He tried to will himself into a state of calm, too, but that wasn't working out too well.

"That was easier than I thought," Marshall said, still grinning and still sitting on Ted's legs. "And it's good for you, too, because I was getting ready to spit on your face."

Ted wasn't really listening to what he was saying, but he must have looked horrified or something because Marshall shrugged and said, "It's what my brothers used to do to me. That or tickle me until I peed. It was not pretty."

Ted laughed weakly. "Okay, I have to go to bed," he said, staring at the ceiling. "We should clean up."

"Oh, right." Marshall stood up and then held out his hand to help Ted up.

"I'm good," Ted said, refusing to look at Marshall as he pushed himself to his feet.

Ted started gathering cans and dumping them into a garbage bag as quickly as he could without looking anywhere but the floor. Marshall hummed "We Are The Champions" as he righted the chairs and put the cushions back on the couch and cleaned up the pizza remnants. When he was finished, Ted knotted the garbage bag, set it next to the bin in the kitchen, said "Um, 'night!" in a unfortunately high-pitched voice, and practically sprinted into his room.

He locked the door and sat on the edge of his bed and thought _what is wrong with me_? He flopped backwards and laid there listening to Marshall shuffle around the living room and he thought about how this wasn't the first time he and Marshall lived together. They'd been close for years now (well, two, but still. That was multiple years, so it totally counted) and he'd seen him in various states of undress, been less than five feet away while Marshall had sex, hugged him, punched him, and even been spooned by him in the 100K fiasco. And yet this? This whole wanting to kiss Marshall was pretty new. _What the hell?_

He pulled his pillow over his face and silently screamed into it. It was ridiculous to be working himself into a big gay panic over everything and oh fuck, that was exactly what this was -- a Big Gay Panic. Over being gay for his best friend. Oh God, _fan-fucking-tastic_. This was probably the kind of thing he should talk to someone about, but what was he going to do, corner Marshall in the kitchen one morning and say, "Oh hey, it looks nice outside, could you pass the orange juice, and also, I've been thinking -- we should make out." Right. Because that wouldn't totally ruin breakfast or anything.

And if he tried to talk to Lily about it, if he brought up his _feelings_ or whatever she'd just tell him to nut up and be a man about it or something, which would be no help at all. And then she'd immediately tell Marshall about it, or Marshall would know the first time he looked at her or something, because there were no secrets between those two. But it didn't matter because Ted can't talk to her about it, because the feelings in question are about _her_ boyfriend and Ted wasn't a girl but even he knew you don't discuss liking someone's boyfriend with that person's girlfriend. Oh God, this was bad on so many levels.

Maybe Marshall hadn't noticed that Ted was being weird. Well, weirder than usual. But Marshall was kind of clueless sometimes, so maybe he'd just chalked it up to Ted having too many beers after a stressful day. Ted pulled the pillow off his face and took a deep breath. He blinked up at the ceiling. The room was spinning. Maybe _he_ could chalk it up to too many beers. Then he remembered the way Marshall licking the sauce off his finger and the way his hands had wrapped around his wrists and yeah, it definitely wasn't the beers. Shit.

**

The next morning, Ted was leaning against the counter eating Froot Loops out of the box and trying to figure out how to deal with his stupid life when Marshall stumbled into the kitchen. Ted took a deep breath and steeled himself for round one of acting like everything was completely, totally, utterly normal.

Marshall nodded good morning and took a Gatorade from the fridge. Ted crammed another fistful of cereal into his mouth.

"Don't you have class?" Marshall asked.

Ted looked at the clock.

"Oh shit."

He panicked and was headed for the door when Marshall said, "Hey, wait," and grabbed him by the wrist and Ted felt like every inch of his skin was on fire. Memories of pizza sauce and wrestling and Marshall's face inches from his own came flying back to him and Ted felt like he was going to faint. Marshall just smiled and plucked the Froot Loops box out of Ted's grasp.

"Oh. Right," Ted said, stuttering. "Well. See ya."

"Backpack, Ted!" Marshall yelled when Ted had one foot in the hallway.

"Backpack!" Ted said, running back into his room.

"Bye, Ted," Marshall called as Ted left the apartment again.

"Bye," Ted yelled, probably waking up everybody on their floor.

Well, it definitely could have gone worse.

**

It didn't take long to become obvious that Ted couldn't be in the same room as Marshall without reverting to his state of Big, Gay, Having Inappropriate Feelings About His Best Friend Panic. And so the only option left was to avoid him. It helped that Ted had a round of exams coming up; he basically holed up in the library or his room and studied until all the buildings started to form one giant, futuristic superstructure in his mind. At least his GPA was going to benefit from this whole situation.

And as time went on, he got really good at making excuses for why he couldn't stick around for dinner with Lily or play NCAA '98 or get drunk and watch _Dawson's Creek_. Well, not _good_ at it, but it he did it frequently enough that Marshall eventually stopped bugging him to hang out. And from there on out it was easier on them both.

**

He was sprawled on the couch, watching _SportsCenter_ and actively not reading about French Baroque architecture and its influence on secular architecture in Europe. Marshall had classes all afternoon and Ted was taking advantage of having the apartment to himself.

"Hey, Ted," Lily said, letting herself into the apartment.

"Hey, Lil." Didn't she normally have class now? Part of his whole _Operation Avoid Marshall And Ergo Avoid His Problems_ was the _Avoid Lily So I Don't Have To Talk Or Hear About Marshall_ sub-plan, but if Lily was here, in his apartment, talking to him, then everything was going to start falling apart.

"Eh," she said, waving her hand. "Do you want get some lunch?"

"Oh, uh, I actually have a lot of work to do." He pointed to the textbook on his chest.

Lily glared at him. "What I meant to say was, Ted, you're coming to lunch with me."

In two weeks of hiding in the library and going to sleep at 10 pm Ted had somehow managed to forget how truly terrifying she could be, with her death glares and her do-what-I-say-or-else voice.

"Right, lunch. That sounds like a great idea. Um, just let me find my shoes."

"Yay," she said quietly, and Ted thought about how the scariest part of it all was how she pretended she was never terrifying in the first place.

Thirty minutes later they were sitting in a booth O'Rourke's making awkward small talk while they waited for their food. Well, Ted was making the awkward small talk; Lily was just glaring at him.

"Oh, cut the crap, Ted," she said, interrupting his monologue on the week's weather forecast. "Why are you being so weird lately?"

"I'm not being weird."

"This is the first time I've talked to you in, like, two weeks! You're always ignoring me and you're ignoring Marshall, too -- which, by the way, is totally hurting his feelings, so seriously, stop it -- and you're always running off to the library, pretending you have to study."

"I'm not _pretending_, Lily, I'm actually studying. There's this thing, I don't know if you've heard of it, it's called _school_. It's kind of important."

"Oh, whatever. Being stressed about school doesn't make you twitchy. It makes you cranky and unbearable to be around, but it doesn't make you twitchy. And Ted? You're really twitchy lately."

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. They sat in stony silence for a beat; he nearly jumped out of his skin when the waitress arrived with their food.

"Twitchy," Lily repeated, raising her eyebrows to emphasize her point.

Ted smiled at the waitress and waited until she was gone to hiss, "I am _not_ twitchy."

Lily looked at him like he was retarded. "Ted, the last time you started being this weird on a regular basis was freshman year after you broke up with Karen. Ooh, is it a girl?"

Ted gave her a look that he hoped said _Shut up right now or I will stab you with this fork_, but no dice. Lily just reached over and stole the grapes off Ted's plate and kept talking.

"Oh, man," she said, "I can't believe it took us this long to figure it out. So what's the problem?"

Ted knew he looked confused, because one minute he was sitting there stonewalling and the next Lily had invented some imaginary relationship drama that, while imaginary, wasn't terribly far off the mark.

"Why are you all twitchy about her," Lily explained. "Is that she's dating someone? Is there something horribly wrong with her? Is she a midget?"

Ted squirted ketchup onto his eggs and tried to block her out.

"Well whatever it is, you either need to get over _it_ or get over her. Okay?"

Ted bit his lip and idly pushed his eggs around his plate. He refused to look up.

"Oh, Ted." She reached over and patted his hand. "Things'll work out eventually."

"Thanks, Lil," he said. She squeezed his hand and smiled and pushed her extra side of bacon in his direction and somehow, sitting in that diner, eating breakfast for lunch, Ted sort of believed her.

**

For things to work out, though, Ted basically had to nut up and stop hiding from Marshall and Lily. And it took a lot of effort, but eventually things went back to normal.

Sure, Ted still had internal freak-outs about a lot of things, like the time Marshall came home drunk and hugged Ted a lot and talked with his mouth pressed against Ted's neck and then almost fell asleep on him. Or the time Ted absently reached over to tuck in the tag of Marshall's t-shirt and the skin on his neck was all soft and warm and eventually Marshall said, "Ted, what the hell?" because Ted had gotten distracted and was still touching Marshall's neck like a creepo. Or the time Lily had come up for movie night and they'd rented _Armageddon_ and spent all night crying and in the end they'd fallen asleep on the couch and when Ted woke up Lily was gone but Marshall had his arm around Ted's shoulders and there was a spot of drool on his shirt from where Ted had been using his stomach as a pillow. After that one Ted had lain awake for hours, just staring at the ceiling, wondering why this was happening to him. His ceiling never had any answers.

But other than that, things were totally normal. They ate dinner together and reinstated movie night and got high and watched infomercials at three in the morning. Marshall still owned Ted at NCAA. Their dry erase board -- which used to be where they wrote grocery lists or notes reminding someone to tape Buffy or a giant CALL YOUR MOM -- had been turned into a scoreboard to keep track of whose record was better. Five losses meant you were in charge of procuring the next case of beer. Ted was currently in charge of buying beers through spring break and he had the Michigan fight song permanently stuck in his head because Marshall's new favorite team was Michigan and every time he won he danced around the room singing "Hail to the Victors" until Ted punched him in the arm.

So, yeah, gambling, video games, totally appropriate physical contact -- completely back to normal.

**

The problem with living with the person you're maybe-in-love, definitely-in-lust with is that it's almost exactly like you're dating them but without the bonus "hey, let's make out on the couch instead of watching Ron Popeil again" parts, which ultimately makes it even harder to stop wishing for the making out part. So that sucked for Ted. Like, a lot. But it was cross to bear or whatever it was that people said when their problems were bigger than they were. And so he just dealt with it. Sure, he spent a lot of nights lying on his bed listening to Elliot Smith and waiting for divine intervention or something, but whatever. He dealt with it, and in the end he made it through the rest of the semester without a) having an actual nervous breakdown or b) convincing Marshall and Lily that he hated them. And that was all he needed, so. Awesome.

**

The first night of Reading Week had always been one of Ted's favorite days of the school year -- the way it was like the calm before the storm, the heady relief of being done with classes mixed with the impending doom of finals and the giddy anticipation of break. This semester was no different, and really, Ted thought a month in Ohio without Marshall or Lily or anything was exactly what he needed to clear his mind. But first he needed Marshall to stop hogging the joint.

"Dude," he said, smacking the side of the bed.

"Huh? Oh, sorry." Marshall's hand appeared over the side of the bed as he passed the joint to where Ted lay on the floor. Marshall rolled onto his stomach and peered over the side of the bed. "So are you gonna get any sleep this week?"

Ted shrugged. Marshall pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Because I told you, man, I can draw the bricks for you if you need me to. Or I can paint it. I totally got an A+ when we had to do watercolors in art in fourth grade."

Ted sat up slowly. "Thanks, man," he said, patting Marshall's leg.

"Any time." He patted Ted's hand. After a beat he grasped Ted's wrist, bringing his hand close to his face and then lowering it and holding his own hand out. He studied them both for a minute before he said, "Dude, look how tiny your hand is. You have, like, munchkin hands."

"No way, you just have Sasquatch hands."

Marshall dropped his hand like it was on fire. It didn't even feel like it was attached to Ted's body when it thumped against the mattress.

"Ted, don't say that, not even to joke!" Marshall yelled, and then, in the same breath, "Hey look -- it's snowing!"

Marshall fell off the bed and Ted tripped over Marshall's flailing limbs as they clambered to the window. They crouched with their noses pressed to the glass, their breath fogging the surface; there was like an inch on the ground already and it was falling surprisingly thick for early December.

The idea hit them both at the exact same time and instantly it was a race to the door and they were hip-checking each other and grabbing at shirtsleeves and belts just to be the first one downstairs. They were entirely too stoned for this much activity, Ted thought. His coordination was completely off and it felt a little like he was trying to run underwater. He slammed his foot against a chair and Marshall totally ran smack into the door frame and everything was a string of curses and hysterical laughter as they bounded down six flights of stairs, their thundering footsteps echoing throughout the whole building.

They were still shoving at each other and laughing as they slammed through the door. The cold air hit them like a truck and they stopped and looked up at the sky. It looked like it was raining cotton balls.

"Awesome," Marshall whispered, and it was. Ted was standing there in the fleece jacket he'd stolen off Marshall's bed and he could feel every snowflake land on his skin and everything was muted and it was the very definition awesome. He watched a snowflake fall in slow motion. It landed in Marshall's hair and there was another one caught on his eyelashes even more gathering in the hood of his sweatshirt and Marshall was laughing and Ted felt prickly all over.

Marshall took advantage of Ted's distraction and shoved a handful of snow down the back of his shirt and everything devolved from there.

They were soaking wet and freezing by the time they went back upstairs. Ted stood in the middle of the room, shivering, while Marshall hopped from one foot to the other to warm up. The snow stuck to Ted's collar was melting and dripping down his back. It reminded him of that game his sister used to make him play, where she'd mime cracking an egg on his head and let the yolk drip down. Concentration, it'd been called. Thinking about it gave him the chills.

Marshall poked him in the chest. He had bits of grass in his hair and stuck to his sweatshirt and maybe it was the pot or maybe it was the snow or maybe it was the semester-long build up of it all, but without thinking about anything, Ted leaned in and kissed Marshall. And when Marshall didn't run away or say anything or even blink, he did it again, more deliberately, and then Marshall's hand was in his hair, short fingernails scratching against his scalp, and he had Marshall's sweatshirt twisted in his fist and Marshall tasted like pot and toothpaste and Funyuns and Ted couldn't believe any of it was happening.

It didn't last long because when Ted's brain finally caught up with everything, that _oh shit_, he was kissing Marshall, he started to freak out.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," he said, taking a step back, and then another. Marshall looked kind of dazed. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."

Ted covered his face with his hands and tried to think of something to say, but he had nothing. This wasn't supposed to happen. Ever. "I'm sorry," he said again, blindly pacing around the room. "That shouldn't have happened. We shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that. I mean, what about Lily? And, okay, I've been thinking about things -- A LOT of things -- for the past few months, but that doesn't make it okay, you know?" He took a deep breath. "Marshall, I swear to God I never meant for this to happen."

He stopped pacing and turned to look at Marshall, but he was gone.

"Marshall?" He started to panic. Oh God, what if Marshall had left? How long had he been ranting? Why hadn't he heard the door close? "Marshall? Marshall?"

He turned around and sure enough there was Marshall, still covered in grass and dirt and melted snow, sprawled on the couch, sound asleep. Ted stared at him for a good thirty seconds because, seriously? Was he fucking kidding with this? The culmination of Ted's semester-long crisis and he had the nerve to _fall asleep_? Part of Ted wanted to wake him up just so he could punch him in the throat. Another part of him wanted to wake him up and keep making out, because clearly it wasn't weighing heavy on Marshall's conscience or anything, but Ted told that part of himself to shut up, he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, because what they were going to do was find Marshall a blanket and let him sleep on the couch in his wet clothes and maybe catch pneumonia and die but under no circumstances were they going to bring this up again, mentally or conversationally or anything.

As far as Ted was concerned, it was over, forgotten, done. Nothing had ever happened.

God help him when Marshall woke up.

**

Of course, Ted didn't forget. There was no way he ever would. The next morning he woke up and went to studio and spent every waking hour from then until Christmas break drafting a seventeenth century French church and it was the only thing he could think about. Eventually he calmed down, though, and he focused on his project and his exams and for the next week, whenever he saw Marshall it was only in passing, through a caffeinated, sleep-deprived stupor, and it was fine.

He never said anything, and neither did Marshall, and that was that.

**

Marshall drove him home for break, just like always. They played zitch dog and talked about their epic plans for spring break and their twenty-first birthdays and how the next three semesters were going to be more awesome than anyone could ever imagine. Ted almost brought it up once, the whole incident, right around Dubois, Pennsylvania, when they were both in the hating "500 Miles" portion of the cycle and Ted thought not talking about it was going to kill him and only way he could survive was by bringing it up or jumping out the window.

But he never said anything. In the end, he really didn't want to know. Some things were better as secrets, and things were good the way they were and maybe someday when they're thirty it'll come up, but that was a problem for Future Ted and Future Marshall to deal with.

"Zitch dog." Marshall pointed out Ted's window, startling him out of his reverie.

"Damn it! God, I suck at this game."

"Nah, I'm just insanely awesome." Marshall laughed. "Oh, hey, it's back again," he said, pointing at the radio.

Ted grinned and drummed the beat on the dashboard and they sang all the way to Shaker Heights.


End file.
